


The Dominion of King Uther

by harlequin (julie)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Parent/Child Incest, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-25
Updated: 2009-02-25
Packaged: 2017-11-06 02:59:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/harlequin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uther seeks to punish Arthur... and ends up pleasuring him instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dominion of King Uther

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for 805belladonna, who asked for ‘Arthur/Uther, spanking’. It is set soon after the episode 107 _The Gates of Avalon_.

♦

There was a quiet knock at the door, and Uther called, ‘Enter.’

It was Arthur, with a hint of self–consciousness and a corresponding hint of defiance undermining his usual attitude of respect. ‘Father. I trust I’m not disturbing you.’

‘It’s late.’ Uther had been pondering whether he was ready to fall asleep, and therefore whether it was worth going to bed yet. A good night’s rest was becoming a rarity, though he had far less to brood over these days than he had in times past. ‘Has something happened?’

‘No, sire. I wanted to talk with you.’

Uther acknowledged this with a lift of his chin. ‘You come to seek forgiveness.’

Arthur frowned a little. ‘Yes, sire. For Merlin’s sake. My man servant,’ he added.

‘I know the boy,’ Uther replied coldly. That had not been the response he required from Arthur.

‘I understand he has been put in the stocks three times in recent days. And his only real crime has been covering for my absences. Doing so very poorly, I am sure – but nevertheless, father, I hope you do not really think so ill of him.’

‘There is some question of his competence, in both learned skills and natural abilities.’

Arthur considered this for a moment, and then said, ‘He doesn’t present well, sire, it is true, but he has become quite useful to me. Valuable, even. And I do believe he deserves some credit for his loyalty to me and to Camelot.’

Uther stared at his son. ‘What exactly are you asking for?’

‘If you would give him the benefit of the doubt from now on, sire, I would appreciate it.’

This was ridiculous. ‘Arthur, if all he is guilty of is covering for you during your recent infatuation with that young girl, then you have it in your own power to preserve him from further punishment.’

‘Yes, sire. Of course.’

Uther got up to pour himself more wine, and then sat again by the fire. He considered his son. ‘Is there nothing else you wish to say to me?’

Arthur’s lips thinned a little, and he crossed his arms, but he responded obediently enough. ‘What would you have me say, father?’

‘I would have you tell me the truth, and then seek forgiveness for your own deeds.’

‘Yes, sire.’

Uther let a beat go by, and then he demanded, ‘You weren’t on a hunting trip last night, were you?’

Arthur’s head dropped, and a hand came up to his brow. ‘I, uh – I am told not, sire.’

‘You were intending to elope with that bint.’

‘Apparently so, sire.’

‘Evasions!’ Uther was fuming. ‘You have the gall to try choosing the next queen of Camelot based on an adolescent whim, and then you don’t even have the courage to admit to it.’

Arthur tried to lift his gaze to Uther’s, but failed. ‘I am sorry, sire, but I am telling you the truth as far as I know it. There is much about last night that isn’t clear to me.’

‘You were _drunk_?’

A frown. ‘Perhaps, sire. I don’t really know.’

This was beyond belief. ‘You do realise,’ Uther said in an icily measured tone, ‘that you have effectively disqualified yourself from ever taking any part in deciding who you will eventually marry?’

And Arthur grimaced. He actually grimaced, as if impatient and scornful, when what was required was humility and obedience.

_‘How dare you,’_ Uther ground out. He stood, and advanced a step, seeing the appropriate punishment now: ‘I should put _you_ in the stocks.’

Arthur’s head was respectfully lowered, and his hands were clasped behind his back, but it was too late for such a display. ‘As you wish, my lord,’ he murmured.

‘Do you think I would not?’

‘You have had me thrown in the dungeons, my lord, so why would I doubt this?’

Uther stared at him, only feeling further provoked by Arthur’s smoothly diplomatic tone. ‘Don’t you _dare_ try to manage me.’

Arthur’s head lowered further still. ‘No, my lord.’

That image of Arthur bent over and vulnerable in the stocks would not leave Uther’s mind. And yet of course Uther would not submit the prince to such public humiliation. Arthur probably knew that well enough. If Uther went over there now, put his fingers under Arthur’s chin and forced his head up, his son’s expression would probably be unbearably smug.

Uther clenched his gloved fist at his side. ‘You might think yourself a man, but you are not yet of age.’

‘No, my lord.’

‘I should bend you over my knee. When was the last time I spanked you?’

Arthur straightened up and stared at him. His smugness had fled already, and was replaced by pale shock. A long moment passed as Arthur tried to comprehend, and then tried to remember. ‘I must have been… five or six years old, sire.’

‘And why did I punish you?’

‘I had disobeyed you, sire, and ended up hurt.’

‘Just so. Now tell me why I shouldn’t punish you again?’

Arthur was looking at him, carefully, warily, still shocked. He began, ‘Father, I know I have… disappointed you…’

But such grovelling submission only inflamed Uther further. ‘Come over here,’ he growled, and Uther put down his wine, then went to sit on the long couch before the fire.

‘Father –’

‘ _Now._ Or you will only make it worse for yourself.’

After a moment Arthur stirred, and walked over a little shakily. Stood maybe twelve inches away from Uther’s knees. He said, very low, ‘You have made your point, father, and I have taken it to heart. There is no need to continue this charade.’

Uther glared up at him. ‘The more you provoke me, Arthur, the more you prove that I am right to treat you thus.’

Arthur’s head dropped again, and he murmured, ‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Unfasten your breeches.’

The reaction was immediate: Arthur’s mouth formed an _o_ on a gasp, his cheeks stained hot with embarrassment, and his eyes – by the gods, something forbidden sparked in his eyes.

Uther waited obdurate.

Finally Arthur’s hands fumbled up under his shirttail, and he undid his breeches, let them pool at his hips. The shirt still hid his flesh from view. He waited, hands at his sides.

Uther simply patted his hand on his knee. He was sitting on the edge of the couch, so Arthur had to kneel on the floor. But the couch was just a bit too high to be convenient, so when Arthur shifted forward to bend over Uther’s thigh, he had to lift his knees from the floor and prop his weight by the balls of his feet. Uther had spread his legs wide, so that Arthur could lean his forearms on Uther’s other thigh; he leant down low, his head hanging.

Once Arthur was settled, Uther lifted the shirttail out of the way to reveal the pale rounded mounds of Arthur’s buttocks. A perfect shape, a strong generous curve, and quite unblemished. He studied them for a long moment, as one might contemplate a freshly fallen stretch of snow before one marked it with footprints.

Uther lifted his hand, paused at his furthest stretch, tensed his arm and shoulder muscles – and swung down hard until the leather covering his palm and fingers and thumb landed hard right in the middle of those pristine buttocks. Arthur was off–balance enough to rock forward with the blow, but he was man enough not to react otherwise. When Uther took his hand away, he saw Arthur’s skin had reddened already. He hoped he would leave perfect handprints.

He lifted his hand again, and brought it down hard on the near buttock. Hard enough that he felt the impact jar deliciously along his arm and up to his shoulder–blade. Again no reaction. Arthur tried to prop himself more securely with his feet, but he couldn’t find further purchase against the floor.

A third slap, this time lower down, just above where the curve of those two perfect mounds met the top of Arthur’s thighs. This time Arthur let out a sharp breath, and tried to twitch his hips away. But it was already too late. Uther had felt his reaction.

Uther let a moment go by. Arthur waited there so still it was as if he hardly dared to draw breath.

Finally Uther said, ‘Arrange yourself so I can feel you against my thigh.’

And Arthur obediently lifted his hips and reached down, shifted himself, so that his cock ended up against Uther’s thigh, rampant. Once he’d settled himself again, Arthur’s own weight held him there pinned.

Uther lifted his hand, and brought it down hard on the further buttock. Arthur moaned a little as his body rocked forward with the blow, that fall of gold hair swaying forward and then back.

‘Turn your face towards me so I can see it,’ Uther commanded. Arthur did so, his cheeks flushed with confusion, excitement, humiliation. His eyes closed tight. His lips parted and his breath panting.

A fifth slap, lower down again. This brought a groan.

A sixth blow, to the back of the further thigh. Arthur rocking hard against him.

‘Open your eyes,’ Uther said. A glimpse of blue burning hot.

A seventh blow, and Arthur arched his back a little, tilted his hips while still pressed against Uther, and Arthur’s groan became a plea.

Uther closed his eyes, letting his hand rest where it had fallen, and he tried to still a tremble. He understood. He understood both of them now, father and son. ‘Arthur,’ he said, his voice raw with need.

‘My lord,’ the man whispered.

‘I am your king,’ he declared, ‘and you are my dominion.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ Arthur replied, his voice thick, ‘everything I am is yours,’ he took a shaky breath, ‘to do with as you wish.’

Uther lifted his hand to his own mouth, took the leather–gloved thumb in and wet it. Then carefully but firmly he pressed that thumb inside Arthur. A long ragged groan dragged out of Arthur, and his hips rocked against Uther’s thigh, thrusting his cock back and forth.

With his other hand, Uther landed a blow against the further buttock. The position meant he couldn’t use the strength of his shoulder, but it landed well enough.

Another blow, while Arthur worked himself between Uther’s thigh and Uther’s thumb. His beautiful face still obediently turned towards his king.

A tenth blow – and Arthur was coming, bucking against Uther, crying out – his seed pulsing onto Uther’s breeches, splashing to the floor – pushing back against Uther’s thumb, and still thrusting as his cock softened a little. Until at last he sank down to his knees, and his torso curved sagging across Uther’s thighs.

Uther let him have a moment, and then he carefully withdrew his thumb. Patted those buttocks gently. ‘Onto the couch,’ he said.

A sated Arthur hauled himself upright, though he kept his head down. He clambered onto the couch on all fours, then sank again to lie full length, curving around where Uther still sat. Arthur was lying on his front, his breeches still down round his thighs, so his face was hidden but his buttocks exposed. Uther considered him for a long moment, and pondered the various configurations. He wanted Arthur to be kneeling on the edge of the couch, or pushed up against the wall, or standing tied to the bedpost, or riding Uther’s cock, or on his back in the bed with his ankles hooked on Uther’s shoulders. But Uther supposed he could have all that eventually. This simple and obvious solution would be suitable for the first time.

He unfastened his own breeches just far enough to release himself. Straddled Arthur’s hips, leaning forward on one arm. Shifted his other hand to encourage those hips to tilt to the right angle. Looking down at those beautiful rounded mounds of flesh, reddened with Uther’s possessive marks. And then Uther was sinking inside, sinking deep and slow and true. ‘Arthur,’ he groaned. ‘Arthur…’ He had never felt so powerful.

‘My lord…’

Uther was the king, and Arthur was his dominion.

♦


End file.
